


wayfaring stranger

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi, Princess Mononoke AU, warning for body horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a demon attacks his home, Bard is cursed and sent away in exile toward the west.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Poor Wayfaring Stranger', an American folk song. This story is a crossover between the Hobbit movies and Studio Ghibli's Princess Mononoke. You don't need to see Princess Mononoke to understand this story, but I highly recommend it because it is a really, really good movie. This will follow the basic plot of Princess Mononoke, only with (a lot of) changes to accommodate the Hobbit characters and their motivations. We'll see where it goes. Anyway, enjoy!

It was far, far too quiet for midsummer.

The birdsong had tapered off over the course of the morning, the insects by early afternoon. Having long grown used to ignoring the lively cacophony of the woods, the sudden stillness was even more jarring for the people of Laketown.

Bard barely resisted the urge to wince at the sharp _clop_  of Ysgraff's hooves on the hard packed dirt. The  sound rang out back and forth along the path, announcing his presence to anything with ears to listen. However, even this far away from the town, nothing stirred in the trees, and there were none of the usual noises to drown out the sound of his horse's hooves. It was bizarre, plain and simple, and Bard highly approved of the decision to call everyone back into the town. If not even the birds dared to speak, then the forest was no place for one of Laketown's own.

The order had been made by the oldest of the town elders, an old woman with scarred hands from long years of fishing on the lake. The town did not have many elders in recent generations, and none that had been taught by the leaders of old, but there were still some who could guide their people through wisdom gained over the years. Their experience, bolstered by the steady, calm leadership of Bard's family, had kept the town afloat even as its population dwindled.

Hearing voices around a bend in the path, ears pricked and eyes alert as the horse broke into a gallop. All of the townsfolk should be safely back in their houses by now, but if anyone were to still be out and about, it would be these three.

"Bain! Sigrid! Tilda!" Ysgraff wheeled to a stop as Bard's  three children came into view, looking almost as worried as Bard felt. "You need to get back to the house, _now_! The wise woman has called everyone back to the town-"

"No, Da!" Bain pushed in front of his siblings, chin thrust forward defiantly, and despite himself, Bard felt a twinge of fondness at the familiar gesture. "We're not leaving you." Three pairs of eyes identical to Bard's own glared back at him as Sigrid and Tilda stepped up to stand beside their brother.

"We don't have time for this. It's not safe!" He added when Bain opened his mouth angrily. "I need you three to get back to the town and help organize everyone who can handle a weapon." Ysgraff shifted uneasily underneath him, scanning the trees, and Bard felt a spike of panic. "Gather everyone you can, and be ready. If something attacks us, your first duty is to the town. Understand?" He looked hard at each of them until they all nodded grudgingly, even little Tilda, whose eyes were suspiciously shiny. "Now, go!"

Sigrid moved first, pulling her brother behind her as Tilda followed at a run. "Be careful!" she called back desperately, and Bard looked back to see them vanish in the direction of the lake.

He closed his eyes in relief, just for the barest moment, and pushed Ysgraff into a gallop.

The sun bleached grass blurred into yellow streaks at the corner of his vision as the two of them brushed by. The day so far had been completely cloudless, and Bard had to blink the spots from his eyes more than once as the light reflecting off of the bright stone of the path nearly dazzled him. Ysgraff knew the way well enough, but Bard still hated the idea of being unable to see the path or steer his horse safely should they run into trouble. He found himself flicking his gaze from the path to his surroundings, squinting into the darker shadows of the trees and cursing the effect the sun had on his vision.

He might still be a paranoid bastard at times, but the deep shadows would set anyone's teeth on edge.

It was almost a relief when the belltower came into view, with a familiar figure distractedly raising a hand in greeting at the very top. Ysgraff pranced to a stop at the base, and Bard caught one of the posts with the ease of long practice, swinging himself onto the tower's ladder straight from the horse's back.

He stole his way up to the highest point of the tower, weaving expertly through the series of ladders that led to the top, until Percy was gripping his shoulder tightly with eyes still trained on whatever was below.

They exchanged distracted nods, but both men kept most of their attention on the trees ahead of them, not trusting their safety. The tower gently creaked back and forth in the breeze. The rustling of the leaves was deafening, the stillness of the air pressing in on them from all sides.

Bard's bow was in his hand as shadows and light seemed to grow more distinct, draining the color out of the landscape.  Through the haze of the sky above them, he caught a faint black splotch in the distance, accompanied by the scent of fire and rot. The sound of the wind was fierce now.

Bard's hand tensed on the arrow he didn't even remember drawing as he forced himself to breathe calmy. The shape on the horizon was getting rapidly closer and beside him, Percy had leaned halfway out of the tower in order to get a better look. Bard allowed it; he knew that the man could spot things from a much longer distance than anyone else in town.

"Tell me what you see," he murmured, drawing closer to the edge of the tower to give his arm more room to draw the bowstring. There was no answer "Percy?"

There was a hissed word that he didn't catch, and then Percy was turning toward him with panic in his eyes.

"Dragon!" he yelped just as a roar sounded high above them and it was _heading straight for them..._

 

Heart in his throat, he screamed at Ysgraff to run, shoving Percy behind him. The dragon flared its wings, shedding huge flakes of soot and drops of - was that _gold?_ \- onto the ground below.

This close, Bard could see the beast might have once been a magnificent sight; the few scales he could see were a brilliant red, despite the dirty film covering them. Enormous clouds of smoke turned the air around them dark and filthy, and Bard caught the dragon's eyes narrowing maliciously as it dived, shearing off a huge chunk of the belltower. The wood splintered as the tower tilted dangerously, and the two men hit the ground hard. Bard immediately had an acrid tang in the back of his throat from the piles of ash, and the pools of melted gold burned like fire wherever they touched.

He staggered upright, tilting wildly as his hands readied his bow, only to stop as he saw Percy lying still at his feet. Bard whistled unevenly for Ysgraff as he dropped to his knees beside the man, checking for injuries even as Percy's eyes were opening. The man coughed bits of ash a few times, but shook his head as Ysgraff approached.

"I'll be fine-" he was still coughing but could talk easily enough, and that would have to do. Bard swung himself into the saddle without another word, and nearly fell off the other side as Ysgraff started running the moment he was situated. Bard tightened his knees and urged the horse as fast as he dared. This would need to end quickly.

The dragon - no, the _demon_ , it no longer deserved any other name - had slowed down as it reached the path to the village. Despite the distance, Bard could tell how much it was struggling to remain in the air, flapping its wings fiercely as it drifted lower. Losing the battle, it landed heavily in a cloud of smoke, its great lungs heaving out fluttering spots of soot as it struck the ground hard. Bard steered Ysgraff in a circle around the demon, feeling a blast of heat from the beast over his horse's flattened ears. He stood up in the saddle, and called as loud as he could with his throat still raw.

"Demon! Mighty beast, whatever you may be!" It did not move. "Please, leave us in peace!"

The great head moved, revealing a sunken, bloodshot eye that gleamed with an ugly kind of intelligence. "Little vermin," it sneered, its stinking breath washing over them, "who are you to make demands of me?" The last word was nearly a snarl as it uncoiled its tail like a whip.

"We have done you no harm," Bard kept his face as impassive as possible as he tightened his grip on his bow. "I ask that you leave this place-"

"We? Ah, yes." Its gaze became calculating, and it looked down on him, amused. "That is your village, is it not? Your's, and your family's. You care for them, yes"

Its head snaked forward to hover directly above him, blocking the light of the sun and completely obscuring anything else. Dirty streaks of gold dripped lazily from its mouth, bare inches away from the two of them. Ysgraff trembled, almost frozen in terror, but did not try to flee. Brave horse.

Its next words came in a low hiss, ruffling Bard's hair. " _All of them,_ down to the very last squealing child, will burn in my fire." 

_No-_

The demon swung around, slithering down the hill faster than Bard thought possible, leaving behind a blackened furrow that had Ysgraff struggling to keep his footing. Farther down the hill he heard a panicked shout. His children were down there, right in that thing's path.

He could see them, far below, Bain and Sigrid keeping the pace with Tilda sheltered between them. The three of them had forgone the trail, choosing instead to run straight over the steep side of the hill, away from the beast that had spotted them. It snarled after them, skidding down the incline, and Bard's children ran for their lives.

Too fast, it turned out, as Bain's ankle twisted, throwing him onto the ground with a cry. Bard called his son's name desperately, and Sigrid slid to a stop, bending over him. The demon screamed in triumph, eyes locked on the three of them.

 _no, no, no.._.

Bard's arrow skittered off of the beast's throat as it lunged farther, ignoring him completely. The next few shots earn him a snap of its jaws, but then it was turning away, intent on the two limping brokenly farther below. Its head sank low the same way Bard had seen countless predators do as they prepared to attack.

Sigrid had Bain's arm slung across her shoulders, her other hand on her hip where one of her long knives rested. She screamed wildly at the small figure that had doubled back to stand between her siblings and the demon.

Tilda's sword winked in the sunlight as she ripped it out of its sheath with her face set into fierce lines. Tilda, little Tilda, just barely old enough for a weapon of her own, she had been so proud to begin training to fight, eager to learn the simple strikes Bard had shown her and now ready to stand and die to let her brother and sister escape.

_NO_

Bard's bow sang as he loosed his arrow, hitting the demon in the dead center of its eye. The snarls emanating from its throat were cut off and replaced with a terrible screech as it coiled its long body into a tight defense, spraying its filth in an arc as it writhed in pain. Its lone remaining eye sought Bard's silhouette and glared at him with a hatred so intense that Bard could feel it beating down on him like the heat it breathed from its jaws. Steering Ysgraff with his knees, he readied another arrow as his horse veered sideways, evading the enormous head as the its growls grew angrier. Its teeth were half gone, rotting straight out of its mouth and dripping with poison that turned the ground black underneath its feet. Bard sent another arrow spinning toward its other eye, but the beast simply drew back its head, gaze slitted, and the arrow splintered to pieces on its hard scales. Ysgraff panted as he galloped as hard as he could, but the creature no longer seemed interested in trying to bite them.

Instead, the air whistled through its nostrils as it took a deep breath, chest expanding and, deep within, a light began to flicker. Ripples of heat poured from its mouth on the exhale, and it breathed again. The flickering grew stronger.

Bard's only warning came when the beast planted its feet firmly before a stream of liquid flame was ripping through the air, so hot that it shriveled the grass and Bard could feel the heat blister the back of his neck. Ysgraff stumbled to the side, hooves flinging up clods of dirt, and the torrent of fire licked Bard's outstretched arm.

The heat baked the exposed side of his face, but all he could feel from his arm was a freezing cold that shot up past his elbow. He yanked it close to his body but regretted it instantly as pain unlike any he had ever known flared up, burning through his forearm and spiking all the way down his spine. He clenched his jaw to stop the scream that had escaped and fumbled with another arrow, knowing that the demon could very well be regrouping to attack again.

His arm was throbbing down to the bone, his nearly numb fingers beginning to spasm as they pulled the bowstring back. Oily smoke poured from the demon's mouth as it watched him veer back around, its head weaving like a snake about to strike, and Bard saw it.

Below the curve of its neck, almost out of sight, there was a lighter patch that stood out from the surrounding scales. In the center, there was the gleam of metal, not the soiled gold that the creature kept shedding, but duller, almost black. It was surrounded by unhealthy - looking skin, puckered and bloody in the sunlight, and Bard aimed and fired, faster than thought. The arrow struck its target and kept going, burying itself deep in the demon's chest until only the fletching was visible. Just like before, there was a piercing shriek, but this one was louder and hoarser , punctuated by the flat _thud_ as the beast's legs gave out and the head flopped limply against the ground.

Ysgraff finally slowed a cautious distance away, sides heaving as he gasped for breath, and Bard numbly patted the horse's neck. The demon's eyes were glazing over as fire and gold leaked out of the wound in its chest. It no longer moved.

Bard allowed himself a precious glimmer of hope and sighed in relief, relaxing shoulders that tensed a moment later when the pain in his arm grew. On the surface, it felt like any other burn, but the strangely cold heaviness that began to settle along the injury was making him very, very nervous.

He slid out of the saddle and, shivering, collapsed to his knees, weak from pain and shock. Now that there was nothing to distract him, the burn seemed to itch and throb more strongly, hot stripes of pain extending from just below his elbow all the way down to his wrist. Bard found himself pulling his arm into the curve of his body, his focus narrowing until the only thing that existed was  the pain and a creeping chill that caused his arm to feel distant, almost detached from the rest of him. Like something foreign had replaced it, something unwanted.

_"Da!"_

The familiar shout snapped him back to his senses almost violently, and that seemed to be the cue for  other voices to flood his hearing. He raised his head - when had he lowered it? - to see blurry silhouettes that sharpened into people: people he knew, people he recognized. His town.

In the front were three distinct figures, Sigrid supporting Bain while the Tilda rushed ahead toward him, sheathing her sword with hands made clumsy with relief. She reached him first, Sigrid and Bain close behind her, and dropped to his level, moving to throw her arms around her father only to freeze when Bard automatically flinched away.

"Da?" Her voice trembled. "What's wrong?"

Upon seeing the way he clutched his wound, her eyes went wide and she grabbed at his sleeve without thinking. "Da, you're hurt!"

"Tilda, no!" Bard jerked away from her, turning his body to keep his arm out of reach. "Don't touch it. It is a cursed wound."

This, he knew with a bone - deep certainty. Bard had never felt something so very _wrong_.

"Da?" Sigrid sounded small and uncertain as she and Bain settled themselves close by, fear and anxiety plain on their faces. Sigrid went pale at the sight of his injury and her hands tentatively reached out, trying to reassure herself that he was otherwise unharmed. Bain merely gazed at his father before pressing his face into Tilda's hair, shakily stroking the back of her head as he let her sob into his shoulder.

"Stay away from him!" The town's wise woman reached them next, struggling with a wide clay bowl filled to the brim with clear water. "Water from the lake," she explained to Bard, nodding at Sigrid and Tilda in thanks as they leapt to their feet to help steady the bowl. "Put it on the ground there, bathe the wound. It may help."

The Long Lake, as it was called, had provided sanctuary to their people for generations. Years of mutual trust and protection has made its water into a blessing for those who lived on its shores. If anything could help purge the evil from Bard's wound, it was the water of their home.

Bard hissed as he gently lowered his arm into the bowl, the burn steaming as it made contact with the surface of the water. He submerged it completely, eyes closing in silent relief as some of the horrible numbness began to ease out of his body.

The wise woman had moved on as Bard's arm was being treated, approaching the body of the demon as it lay upon the hillside. She bowed her head warily, hands clasped in front of her.

"Demon of greed and hate, I acknowledge your pain," she intoned lowly, eyes sweeping over the evidence of its rampage. "You have suffered much pain, only for it to end here, and I ask that you pass on in peace. Do not let your anger linger over my people."

Bard's wound burned intensely as the beast snorted viciously and let out a cruel laugh as many of the townspeople jumped in surprise. It had given every outward sign of being dead, and the way its eye rolled grotesquely to stare at the old woman had more than one person groping for a weapon.

"Weak, helpless little creatures," it spat, "none of you will be safe from my fire. And _you_ , Bowman." The last word was almost a snarl, directed toward where Bard crouched in the grass, surrounded by his children. "You will die in agony, _rat_ , corrupted by hate and greed while bodies lie dead at your feet. This I swear." Its last breath became a rattle in its chest as it _melted_ , fiery gold mixing with ash and rotten blood that sank into the ground, leaving nothing behind but huge, yellowed bones and something that gleamed dull and metallic in the sun. The stench was unbelievable.

"Well then," someone huffed, and it was as if a trance had been broken. Two townspeople helped Bain wrap his ankle in cloth for the way home, hoisting him onto Ysgraff's back where he could grip the horse's mane. Sigrid supported Bard on his uninjured side as someone else retrieved the bowl - and Bard's chest clenched in relief when he saw that it was Percy, covered in soot but relatively unharmed. The man dipped his head when Bard caught his eye, the same type of reverence in his expression that the rest of the townsfolk showed whenever they looked in Bard's direction.

A few dozen men and women stayed behind to perform rites over the demon's body under the watchful eyes of the town elders. Bard and Sigrid led the rest in a slow train toward the lake, Ysgraff trailing behind them while Tilda marched on ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Ysgraff' is the Welsh word for 'barge'. Bard's horse is the same one he rode in BotFA


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again you fabulous people! I don't know if the other updates will be this fast - I'm currently laid up with a knee injury right now, so I haven't had much else to do, heh.

Bard sat cross-legged on the floor of the hut and watched the wise woman handle smooth lake stones with practiced motions. Her face was expressionless as she studied a pattern only she could see, Bard's entire future laid out on the cloth spread flat in front of her.

There were very few people within Laketown capable of seeing far off events as anything more than brief, confusing flashes. Most of the townspeople still had the old gift of subtle foresight, but it had been reduced to bits and pieces of visions, half-seen and gone within a blink. To predict with any real accuracy required both natural talent and the right methods, two things that now only the wise woman possessed.

The rest of the town elders were seated formally against the wall to Bard's left. They exchanged worried glances and muttered among themselves, voices respectfully lowered, but Bard's mind was as blank and empty as the lake stones as he watched the old woman read his fate.

At last, she picked up a single stone and set it aside with an air of finality, meeting Bard's gaze and silencing the quiet voices. There was a slight downturn of her mouth that gave him all the information he needed. This would not be good news.

"The stones tell me that the demon was one of violence and greed. He came far away from here, to the west." Looking down at the arrangement in front of her, she slid another stone across the cloth. "Poison was what created his madness, a poison driven deep inside of him. That is how he became a demon." The wise woman straightened up, staring him in the face, and Bard braced himself. "My Lord Bard. Please show us your right arm."

Bard silently unfastened the bandages that covered his injury. Unwinding the clean white cloth, he held up his arm for everyone to see.

A patchwork of shiny red burns covered his arm from wrist to elbow, peppered with blackened scales of ash seemingly embedded in the skin. The most unnerving parts, however, were the powdery lines of gold that wrapped their way around his arm, coiling over the worst of the burns. The metal had a sick, greenish tint when it caught the light that did away with any impression of beauty or value.

After the wound had stopped bleeding, Bard had dipped his arm in warm water, then held it next to a fire when that proved to be ineffective. It was no use: the gold on his arm remained cold to the touch no matter what he did.

The wise woman did not react to the sight of the demon's curse, unlike many of the elders who were watching. "My Lord. Are you prepared to learn your fate?"

"I am."

She nodded in approval at the steely note in his voice. Her eyes were solemn. "The curse will spread into your very bones, infecting every part of your body. You will die a truly painful death. This, you cannot change."

_"What?"_

Bard had remained silent and still as the wise woman finished speaking, but one of the elders had burst out, unable to hold back his shock and dismay. Judging from the expressions of the rest, he saying exactly what they were all thinking. "Lord Bard was acting in our defense! He fought a demon to save the town, and was cursed because of it! Are we supposed to just watch him die in agony?" All eyes turned to the wise woman, who was still gazing at Bard in quiet contemplation.

"Your fate cannot be changed. However, you can face it if you choose. Look at this."

Se reached into her sleeve and pulled out something that glimmered faintly in the lamplight. "We found this, among a few other shards, in the demon's chest." It was a dull metal ball the size of Bard's fist, ridged and misshapen. "It tore him apart from the inside and shattered everything in its path. This was the poison that turned him into the demon you fought today."

"It came from the west. This is a sign of the evil at work there, evil you must see for yourself. Go to the west, and you may find a way to heal your arm. Do you understand?" He did.

There was more arguing among the group of elders, ending when a bushy - haired man coughed and spoke in a voice that creaked with age. "It has been centuries since we, the people of Dale, were driven out of our homeland and made to settle in the east. We have done well surviving on the lake, but with every generation there are fewer and fewer of us." He raised his head, and his ancient eyes were full of tears. "And now Bard, one of the last remnants of the rulers of old, must cut his hair and leave his family behind?"

"What more can be taken from us?"

The ceremonial knife had been set on the other side of the hut, underneath the lanterns. Blade in hand, Bard gathered up his hair, still damp from washing, and carefully began to saw. With a few strokes, his head felt lighter than it had in a living memory.

His shorn hair fell forward around his face, dark curls appearing in the corner of his vision. The breeze from the door raised goosebumps on his neck and shoulders.

"We are forbidden from watching you go, Bard. You are cursed, and therefore banished from our people forever. Farewell."

Bard stood up and left the hut.

***

Methodically, he collected everything he would need for a long journey. He packed as much food as he could reasonably carry, knowing that he could always add more when he retur- when he stopped to hunt.

He took a sword from the town's stock, for in case he could not use his bow. His bowl, some bandages, and a few extra blankets all went into his pack. The entire thing felt incredibly light as he swung it over his shoulders.

It took only a moment of searching to find what he wanted in the chest he kept under his bed. He had been proudly presented with many drawings as his children were growing up, and they had nearly papered the walls of the house before being replaced by more recent sketches and notes from all four of them.

He hesitated for a moment, then drew out a few drawings from the many stored in the chest. They were folded carefully and placed in a small pouch at his hip. The chest he left on top of the bed.

Ysgraff was already awake in the stables when Bard came to collect him an hour before dawn. The horse watched him with interest as he mechanically retrieved the saddle and bridle from where they had been resting. It took him twice as long as it should have to attach his pack to Ysgraff's harness. His hands kept fumbling the ties, and the way his vision blurred made it hard to see the knots.

The two of them made their way through the maze of houses. The town was dark and eerily silent enough that a shout from behind made them both start violently.

"Sigrid, this is forbidden!" He hissed, his surprise at seeing her appear making him curt even as joy unfolded in his stomach. "What are you doing here? You should be with the others!"

She scowled as she reached his side. "They can do without me for as long as it takes to say goodbye." There was pain in her voice, ruthlessly suppressed. "Tilda is with Bain, they'll be fine. I came to give you this." She held out her hands and Bard instantly recognized what she was offering. He had given it to her himself when she had come of age, as his father had passed it on to him.

"The family emeralds? Sigrid, these belong to you."

"You _are_ my family. Just take them, please. To remember all of us."  Ysgraff brought his head around to look at her, and she stroked his nose before leaning her forehead against his. "I need you to take care of him, ok buddy? You know how much trouble he can get into when no one's looking." She sent Bard a grin that was genuine, if tight around the edges.

Bard felt a soft smile on his face, the kind that only his children seemed to draw out. "Thanks, Sig."

"Love you, Da. Please be careful."

"I love you too, Sigrid. I'll do my best."

He spurred Ysgraff into a gallop and they left the town, leaving her alone. Bard gripped the reins hard and focused all of his attention on Ysgraff's neck as the horse settled into a steady canter, the world receding until all he could hear were hooves against the path and his own breathing.

In, out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that some dialogue in these scenes is paraphrased from 'Princess Mononoke'


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written to the entire Portal 2 soundtrack, because that was the only thing I had on my phone.

The trees began to thin out by noon on the second day, and disappeared completely by dawn on the third. He knew he was probably moving too fast, waking early and pushing forward until late in the evening, but Ysgraff hadn't complained at any of it. If anything, his horse seemed to share the same restlessness that hounded him at every step, the emotions of the past week condensing into a single, ironclad compulsion to _move._ They drove themselves until it was too dark to go any further, then dropped and slept the sleep of the exhausted.

Though his hands shook and his eyes were gritty, his tired mind was kept free of thoughts, and Bard could not bring himself to regret that.

The days flew by, turning into one long stretch of blue skies and sun on the grass and the mountains ahead, hazy and flat at first but becoming more and more distinct as they kept heading west. He lost track of the date three times before giving up, instead keeping time by the wheel of the sun overhead and the far off landmarks that inched by ever-so-slowly.

Eventually the grass gave way to farmland and welcome patches of forest. Bard was leery about using the roads, but it was either that or traipse through some poor farmer's crop, and he was not at all prepared to fend off an angry tirade should he be caught. Ysgraff's company was about all he could stomach at the moment, and he was beyond relieved that they met no one on the road. The towns in the distance were carefully avoided.

As far as Bard could tell, the people in this region tended to live quietly, keeping more or less to themselves, which was why the sound of a struggle in the distance one day caught him so off guard.

He and Ysgraff had spent the morning winding their way along a path in the forest, eventually finding themselves emerging alongside yet another patch of farmland. Upon coming out from the shelter of the trees, Ysgraff pricked up his ears and snorted nervously, which was warning enough even before the first screams split the air.

"A battle?" Bard muttered to himself, eyes flicking from one place to the next. A huge cloud of smoke hovered what had been a cluster of farmhouses, their former inhabitants scattered and clearly panicking as they were cut down by dark figures with flashing blades. A massacre.

Shouts from the bottom of the hill drew his attention, and he recoiled as several of the figures snarled at him in words he could not understand. Black bows were aimed his way, Ysgraff dancing to the side to avoid the arrows that speared the path with sharp thuds. Goblin-make, it looked like. _Damn._

Ysgraff charged down the trail, away from the hail of arrows. Bard drew his bow where it had been strung across his back, not wanting to use it and knowing that he would probably have to. Goblins did not take prisoners, after all, and most of the farmers here were unarmed and defenseless.

Bard doubted any of them had the ability to fight back  after such an attack, and the thought spurred him on as he slipped an arrow out of his quiver and tightened his knees to hold himself steady. Ysgraff sprinted around a bend and that put the refugees right in their line of sight.

One of them had fallen - an old woman, stooped and gasping- while an enormous goblin screeched in triumph above her, planting a boot in the middle if her back and raising a crude, twisted, _razor sharp_ axe high in the air.

"Enough!" Bard roared, taking aim for a disarming shot before the muscles in his arm abruptly tensed, tight to the point of trembling. His fingers went numb, but somehow clenched the bowstring even tighter as a chill burned its way across the skin, shooting down, down until it hit bone-

_What-_

His fingers gave out and the arrow released with a snap and a _violent_ backlash that nearly knocked him sideways. The arrow wavered as it sped through the air but that wasn't possible, no one could shoot like that and still hit a target, but then it was sweeping over the goblin's head and tearing off its arms at the shoulder in a black spray of blood. The axe went spinning, the arrow pinned the severed arms to a tree, and the goblin looked up dumbly before Ysgraff knocked him sprawling.

Bard's arm burned and his fingers gripped something hard - another arrow, why had he drawn another? He didn't want more bloodshed, not after that display - but the goblins appearing from the side had no such hesitation. A black arrow whistled past his head, barely missing him, and his arm was already pulling back the bowstring before Bard could call for a truce.

His next shot sliced a goblin's head clean off and flung the body back into a group of its fellows, scattering their formation and halting the pursuit. Vicious growling followed him away from the battle, but none of the goblins dared to give chase.

Bard kept his bow in hand, just in case.

***

The forest spring was barely more than a trickle, really, but it was clear and quiet and he couldn't ask for more than that. His arm was stripped of bandages and thrust unceremoniously under the water, and Bard sucked a breath in through his teeth to see how far the marks had grown.

The threads of gold had gained more substance and multiplied alongside the burns until most of his forearm was covered in red and black and clouded gold. The seam where metal met skin itched and stung fiercely whenever he moved. His fingers were getting stiff and clumsy and tingled unpleasantly, like they had fallen asleep.

"Well, fuck." He laughed helplessly.

At least his self- imposed isolation meant he could cheerfully curse as often as he wanted, and the thought was probably more heartening than it should be. He said as much to Ysgraff and earned an unimpressed look as the horse nosed around for grass to eat.

Bard decided he could take a hint. They needed food, that was clear enough, and talking to someone other than himself and his horse would help break up the monotony of travel, if nothing else.

The settlement he decided to stop at had an open-air market that bustled with shoppers and merchants alike, each trying to speak louder than the rest as they impatiently conducted their business. The sheer number of people gave Bard pause. They were so _loud_ , the voices rang in his ears after weeks of traveling alone, but there were enough that he could disappear into the crowd, buy what he needed and slip away anonymously.

In retrospect, failing to take into account the habits and mannerisms of a small town was a mistake he would remember for an embarrassingly long time.

At the sight of a newcomer in their midst, business was put on hold in favor of gaping; Bard's clothing, his horse, his coloring, all were new and strange: two strikes against him in a town small enough that every secret was common knowledge. Bard kept his head high but his face blank in response to the stares. There would be no reason to start a confrontation here.

The woman in the stall was just as free with her suspicious looks, although the promise of money was enough for her to keep her silence as she filled his bag with rice.

She took issue with the payment he offered, apparently not recognizing gold for what it was. Distracted by restlessness  and _why was this familiar, the hungry looks of the people around them as they eyed the gold, their greed settling somewhere in the back of his mind_ , he only lingered long enough to see the issue resolved by one of the men in the crowd before he was off with Ysgraff. His arm twinged.

***

The man in question caught up with them at the outskirts of the town a few hours later. He put his hands in his pockets and made a show of strolling along, as if he had not just been running after them a moment before.

"No need to rush, stranger!" He laughed "Got all your supplies, everyone's happy and all that. Glad to have helped you back there, y'know, but you don't have to thank me, honestly."

Bard resisted the very real urge to stop and stare at this man until he went away.

"M'name's Alfrid," he continued, blithely unconcerned, "I was stuck in that goblin raid when you came along, it's nice to repay favors, yeah?" He laughed again, awkwardly when Bard did not reply. "You don't talk much, do you? No matter, plently of people like you around lately, although that's really the only mysterious thing about them. Not like you at all, m'friend, not at all..."

Alfrid, as it turned out, was a merchant for hire - "among other things," he said with a gleam in his eye - traveling west in hopes of finding work. He wore a long black coat, carried a pack on his back, and cheerfully offered to share Bard's rice between the two of them when they stopped for the night.

"So, a demon and a curse, then?" He had watched Bard attentively as the other man told his tale in short, stilted sentences, leaving out all but the barest facts. "Don't suppose you got anything else. Everyone's under a curse these days, just look around you. A person's gotta look out for himself if he wants to live well."

He didn't have much to say about the iron ball, only mentioning some vague rumors he had heard of a dwarven mine to the west. " 'Far to the west', " he shook his head. "There's always something over there, the way people talk. Can't ever agree on what it is though." He leaned forward with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "The only thing I know for certain is that to the west there is the mountain where the Forest Spirit lives. It rules over all beasts and it is said that its head can bring immortality. Could be just hearsay, but," he tapped a finger on the side of his bowl "I hear about people who believe it. Might pay quite a pretty sum for that head, yeah?"

Bard gave him an apologetic smile. "I wouldn't know, to be honest. But thank you, I believe I've heard all I need."

" 'Course."

He gathered up his bowl and blanket to lay down for the night next to Ysgraff. The camp was silent until a voice spoke up from the other side of the campfire.

"Oi, what's your name, by the way? You never said."

"Good night, Alfrid."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been a while. College and health problems kind of kicked my butt for the past year. Sorry!

Bard left Alfrid sleeping in the campsite in the gray time before the sun rose. It was better that no  one knew where he was going after the his display with the goblins, and Alfrid was far from an ideal conversation partner. He packed up his things quickly next to the still smoldering fire and saddled Ysgraff as quietly as he could. The last he saw of Alfrid that morning was a lump of snoring blankets before the campsite vanished behind a bend. The loudest sound was the clopping of Ysgraff's hooves on the stones as they wound around and around to reach the road.

If Bard was honest with himself, last night had been the first time he had conversed with someone since his time at the lake. It seemed harder than he remembered; he found himself fumbling for his words at intervals, and every time Alfrid's eyes had caught on the pouch where Bard kept his gold, it had sent an answering shiver down his injured arm. If Bard was honest with himself, it had been far too long since he had spoken with anyone but his horse. He knew it was his fault, and that was exactly the reason Bard did not want to be honest with himself.

They found the road covered in dew and set off, as always, heading unerringly west.

***

The days seemed to slow down after he stopped at the market, but for once, Bard could not complain. The forests they crossed were different than they were back home: the trees seemed older, with leaves that grew dark and thick and thorny brush that left long scratches on both of them. For the first time, the sight of endless groupings of trees marching off into the distance did not send Bard's thoughts racing back to his abandoned home. Ysgraff seemed content enough with the change of scenery; he periodically reached out to sample the leaves as they passed by.

The forests grew ever thicker, the breaks few and far between. Over the course of days, they traveled into the foothills of the western mountains, surviving on plants and the enormous squirrels Bard caught with his bow. Bard did not stop at any more towns.

They both heard the river from a fair distance as it overflowed with rainwater from the mountains. Bard twitched the reins to bring Ysgraff to a stop as he surveyed the muddy water for a safe place to cross. He found none.

A flash of color caught his eye, and he whipped around to spot someone - a fellow traveler? - lying face up in the shallows, mouth slightly agape. Feeling a thrill of concern, Bard scrambled off of Ysgraff's back and over the rocks, absently noting the person's oddly patterned clothing as he knelt down to check for a breath. It was there, barely, and Bard swiftly dragged the man out of the river, trying to mind any hidden injuries. The man's feet emerged from the water rather sooner than expected. Despite himself, Bard stared. Not a man - a dwarf!

With difficulty, Bard struggled out of the shallows, the body a dense, heavy weight in his hands. Straightening up, he spotted another patch of color caught on a rock near the center of the river. This one was also a dwarf, in somewhat better condition. Bard was grateful - he only had so many bandages.

Splinting the broken limbs proved to be the hardest part yet; the dwarves' arms and legs were stiff and heavy from the cold, and Bard spent long minutes trying to bind sticks around one dwarf's arm without getting the thickly woven tunic tangled up in the straps. The entire time, he grumbled to Ysgraff, who only snorted at him. Smug horse. Bard went back to his work.

The sounds was faint when it reached his ears; Bard only just heard it over the rushing of the water. He flicked his gaze over his shoulder as his hands tightened a knot - it almost sounded like a voice.

Hope stirred briefly in his throat, but he forced it down and took up his bow. After the goblins, he was not inclined to be trusting.

Pulling his scarf up over his face, Bard signaled for Ysgraff to stay put before stealing back to the center of the river. His fingers twitched toward his quiver, but he did not draw an arrow. Not yet.

He slipped between two of the largest rocks and peered through the branches of a fallen tree. There - there was movement in the bushes farther down the bank. Bard watched as a bizarre train of elk, wolves, and tall figures -  _elves?_ \- traipsed through the undergrowth to reach the river. Some were limping, some bleeding, all of them panting and muddy and wet. At the head of the train walked a huge red elk, head held high despite the enormous crown of antlers it carried. Next to the elk walked -

Bard squinted through the twigs. It  _was_ an elf; an elf taller than the rest with exotically pale skin and hair. His hands were long and elegant as they clutched a knife made of bone, his hair slid like water across his shoulders, and his narrowed blue eyes -

"Who are you?!"

-were staring right at him.

Bard wasted no time. He jumped to the top of one of the boulders next to him so he could be easily seen. He swiped the scarf down off his face and answered in a clear voice.

"My name is Bard!" The elf did not relax. "I come from far to the east. I am looking for the lands of the Forest Spirit. Tell me - have I arrived at last?"

None of the elves answered back, instead glaring coldly at him while their leader, the pale elf, sneered contemptuously. A few of the wolves snarled in his direction.

As one, they turned and left the river. The tall elf was the last to leave, turning from where he sat on the great elk to shout two angry words back at Bard.

" _Go away!"_

***


End file.
